


Proper Names

by bellalinguista



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3381881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellalinguista/pseuds/bellalinguista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie overhears a small piece of information during Peggy’s interview with Madam Fry. What is meant to be a bit of teasing turns into a heartfelt conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proper Names

Emerging from her concluded interview with Miriam Fry for a room at the Griffith Hotel, Peggy was quickly met by an ecstatic, bouncing Angie. It was clear she was more excited about her new neighbor – she was about to burst. When Peggy flashed her a small smile, she squealed. 

“That went so well, Peggy!” Angie said, grinning from ear to ear. Of course it went well – Angie silently coached her through the window as Madam Fry asked her usual questions. Peggy probably was not the first woman Angie helped get through this interview. “Or should I say, that went so well, _Margaret_.”

“Ah, so you were able to overhear, why am I not surprised?” Peggy teased. “Didn’t you assume what my proper name was? “

“Nah, I figured ‘Peggy’ suited you,” Angie commented. “And of course I could hear – how do you think you passed, English? All me!”

Peggy bit back a laugh as Angie linked her arm with hers. “Of course,” she agreed as Angie tugged on her.

“Let me show you around! You’re going to love it here, I just know it!” Angie exclaimed, dragging her down the hall.

As she allowed herself to pulled along, Peggy could not help but continue to smile. Angie’s excitement was rather infectious – she was so giddy about being neighbors. “I take it Angie must be short for something as well. ‘Angelina’, perhaps?” Peggy asked, making a guess.

“Oh gosh, no!” Angie wrinkled her nose in disgust as they entered the dining hall, which was only occupied by a couple of other women, chatting among themselves. “That’s one of my cousins’ name. She lives in Jersey with my aunt and uncle – threw my favorite doll into our Nonno’s tomato garden after a really bad thunderstorm when we were kids. Never could get all the mud out of its fur. Never really forgave her for it either.”

“Oh, then, pardon me,” Peggy apologized.

“Nah, not your fault – so! This is the dining hall,” Angie pointed out needlessly. “Mrs. Fry is really big about communal dinning and the food’s not half bad, but it ain’t Sunday lunch at Nonna and Nonno’s. I wouldn’t even call what they serve here sometimes pasta – complete insult to what pasta actually should be.”

To which Peggy replied, “Duly noted – I didn’t think one could feel so passionate about… pasta.”

They walked out of the dining hall and proceeded to the stairs that would take them beyond the first floor, to where men were strictly prohibited – as Madam Fry stressed repeatedly.

“You know, I didn’t either,” Angie commented. “But then I moved out of my Mamma and Papà’s place. I suddenly had an opinion about everything.”

For a moment, Peggy was glad that Angie was leading them up the stairs, her back was facing her. Angie could not see the smirk that had tugged the corner of Peggy’s lips. Something told her that Angie had already been full of opinions, long before she had moved out of her parents’ home. Peggy did not dare make a comment.

But Peggy did speak up, voice trailing, “So, if not Angelina, then…?”

“Angela,” Angie replied as they reached the third floor, their destination. “We’re – that is, my doll throwing cousin and I – are both named after the same great aunt. Well, me more than her – great Zia Angela. She’s still back in Italy. I haven’t met her.”

“Really?” Peggy asked, stopping when they reached the door to 3E.

“She’s not one for traveling and, you know, going to Italy’s been kind of difficult the last few years, don’t you think?” Angie asked in return. “What about you? Have you ever been there?”

“Umm, not recently, no,” Peggy lied. “As you said, with the war and all, but there was a family vacation when I was a child somewhere in the north. I can’t recall where exactly.”

Angie’s eyes lit up and, if possible, she got even more excited. “That’s where my family’s from – somewhere over there, anyway. I have to ask Nonna the next time I see her at Sunday lunch. It’d be nice to know how Zia Angela’s doing after the war and everything. Heard she was a force to reckon with, I guess.”

“She fought?” Peggy asked, placing her newly issued key in Angie’s extended palm.

Angie shrugged her shoulders and shook her head slightly. “Not really – I mean,” she quickly backtracked. “Not in the traditional sense anyway. She helped out the local partisans in the area – you know, the Italians who were fighting back against the Germans and the Fascists. They hid in the mountains and the winters were very cold up there.”

“I can only imagine,” Peggy commented. She knew very well how frigid, how low the temperatures could drop in the nearby areas.

“So, Zia Angela and a small group of her friends smuggled wool and knitted socks for the partisans in barely any light in the middle of the night to keep themselves hidden. The lighting didn’t matter, though. They could all knit so fast. They didn’t need it,” Angie continued, unlocking the door. “They were afraid of spies.”

Peggy shifted uncomfortably on her feet, once more glad that Angie’s back was turned.

Angie cracked the door open a bit and turned to face Peggy, who stood a little bit straighter. “It doesn’t sound like much,” Angie said. “Especially with everything else that happened during the war.”

“No, that was really brave of them – of her,” Peggy stated. “Maybe now in hindsight, we can easily forget how dangerous the mundane act of knitting socks can be, but it represents so much more than just knitting. Think of the morale of those soldiers, trying to remain undetected in the cold mountains and how their morale was boosted, knowing that there were people like your great aunt supporting their effort in any way they can,” she pointed out. 

“They may just seem like socks now,” Peggy continued. “But had they been caught, had the Germans discovered their operation, there’s no doubt that they would have been killed on sight. War has so many unnamed heroes – don’t let you great aunt become one of them, Angela.”

Hand wrapped around the doorknob, Angie leaned against the door that gently swayed back, but Angie, for the moment, still kept it closed. It was not a response she had expected to gauge from Peggy, but then again… Angie also was not aware of Peggy’s own involvement in the war. No, Peggy was just another everyday operator at the phone company.

She was just another unnamed hero.

With a genuine smile, Angie met Peggy’s eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said softly, glancing over her shoulder and pushing the door open to reveal the room. “But for now, welcome to your new home, English.”

**End**


End file.
